


Let Me In (And I'll Set You Free)

by RoseByAnyOtherName17



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood, Cuddling, First Kiss, First Time, Hunters, Knives, M/M, Magic, Minor Original Character(s), Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 14:30:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8289128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseByAnyOtherName17/pseuds/RoseByAnyOtherName17
Summary: Stiles snapped back into his own body with a gasp and became aware of Derek's head resting on his arm.
Derek figured out that he wasn't completely messed up while he was gone, and Stiles came to believe that everything he had done had ruined him. Hunters caught them both.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all enjoy! Kind of just something I wrote off the top of my head, but took longer than I thought.

He bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood, but Stiles never made a sound as the serrated edge of the knife dragged across his chest so slowly that he could feel every millimeter of skin opening up underneath it. They wanted to make him scream, beg, but this wasn’t even the worst that had ever happened to him. They knew nothing about him except that he had magic and he ran with wolves. Only, their information seemed to be a bit outdated judging by the werewolf they had chained against the wall.

 

“Oh he’s strong,” the woman—Elizabeth, he thought—said happily. “So why haven’t they turned you yet? Don’t they know that magic can only be used against them?”

 

“You haven’t met many emissaries, have you?” Stiles said as casually as he could when he could feel blood running over his nipple. “They’re just as important to the pack as any of the wolves. Which is unfortunate for you lady, because you see, me and this guy have never been pack. Actually, I got him arrested a couple of times, which I don’t think he ever really forgave me for. Really, I’m the last person you want for information out of him. Especially about a pack that doesn’t actually exist. He’s an omega, or didn’t you know?”

 

“He’s human,” Derek growled, straining against his bonds. “Let him go.” His hair was soaked with sweat from whatever they had been doing to him before they brought Stiles in, and there were burn marks across his chest that Stiles was pretty sure were a result of electricity.

 

“He stopped being human the second he gave into the magic running through his veins,” the man with the knife said, holding the tip just over Stiles’ heart. “Now you’re going to tell us everything about your sister’s pack, or we’re going to tear him apart while you watch.”

  
Stiles rolled his eyes. “Seriously? That’s the cliché line you’re going with?”

 

“Shut up,” and a high pitched whine that wasn’t Stiles’ filled his ears, like it wasn’t his own chest that was being carved into with a blade that Stiles was pretty sure was illegal outside of the forces instead of Derek’s. He gritted his teeth. He couldn’t move, but he had to concentrate. Wherever they were, whatever underground cement room they were in, there was life nearby. And where there was life, there was energy to be borrowed.

 

But Derek was distracting him more than the knife. “Derek, shut up,” he ground out, even as the knife trailed down to his bellybutton like the man had all the time in the world. And he thought he did.

 

“Stiles—”

 

“I mean it, don’t make a sound, don’t say a fucking word.” He could feel it now: plant life. “I swear to god Derek, if you tell them a thing I will kill you myself, as soon as I’m done with them.” He could see Derek fighting hard in his peripheral vision, but he was more focused on the way the cement was beginning to crack under the roots of a tree just overhead. It wasn’t enough for the hunters to notice, not now that they were laughing at Stiles’ words, but Derek jerked hard, eyes going wide and blue. The man with the knife had to stop so he could double over with the force of his mirth. Stiles grinned down at the bald spot on his head.

 

“You’re bound,” Elizabeth said smugly. “You can’t do anything to us, emissary or not.”

 

“I’m not just an emissary,” Stiles grunted, and they finally noticed the way his muscles twisted under his skin, not in an attempt to escape, but in pure concentration. He burst into laughter himself as he felt the roots break through. “Didn’t you do your research right? I’m a born spark. I’m an elemental, and you’re going to die.” The man was raising the knife again, but Stiles grinned, and the ceiling caved in.

 

As the air became choked with dust, Stiles felt the world slow down. There were screams and a hair-raising snarl that he knew belonged to Derek, and the ropes binding him to the chair snapped with the force of the tree roots that came storming down around him. He stood and turned, and saw the hunters on the floor. Elizabeth was bleeding and struggling to breathe, and the man with the knife wasn’t moving at all. The third, the one guarding the only visible way out, looked terrified.

 

“You’re not getting out through there,” Stiles told him, and the roots wound around the man’s wrists and ankles and hoisted him into the air to pin him to what was left of the ceiling. “You’re not getting out at all.”  
  
“You won’t get away with this,” Elizabeth gasped out from her place on the floor. “There are other hunters with us. They’ll find you, and they will destroy you for this. Both of you. All of you. Your whole pack, until there is _nothing_ left but ash where you once stood.”

 

Stiles coolly wrenched her head back by her hair and listened to her cry out. “You don’t understand, do you?” he said softly. “They’re dead too.” He felt nothing but the warmth radiating out where his magic was retreating back into him, waiting on him. When he did nothing, it settled, and he became so, so cold. “Now give me the key.”

 

Derek fell forward into him the moment he had him down from the wall, stumbling like he couldn’t hold his own weight. Stiles took him, wrapping an arm around his waist and whispering, “Can you walk?” At Derek’s terse nod, he guided him toward the exit. He opened the door, and then turned to look back at the hunters. “I hear suffocation can drive you crazy,” he said. “I’d say let me know, but…well.” Derek leaned heavily against him, panting harshly in his ear, and he led him through the door and out through the tunnel. Then, with the twitch of a finger, he caved that in too.

 

The adrenaline left his system in a rush, and he collapsed under his and Derek’s combined weight, dropping to his knees and forcing himself to lower Derek slowly before falling himself. “Stiles. _Stiles._ ” He was being rolled over and a hand settled on his chest, which he belatedly realized was still bare and bleeding. “Stiles, you have to stay awake. We have to go.”

 

“You have to warn Cora,” Stiles murmured faintly. Through half-closed eyes he could see Derek leaning over him, cradling his face so gently in his hands. “Derek.”

 

“I have to get you to Deaton.” Derek was pulling at him, trying to arrange him in a way that he could pick him up. “Come on, we have to get out of here. Stiles, they’re going to _die._ ” And Stiles understood, somewhere in the haze of his mind: Derek didn’t want to listen to their heartbeats stop, to the sound of their breath rattling into their lungs only to choke. So he gathered whatever strength he had left, and rose with Derek, clinging to each other because neither one could stand on their own.

 

They stumbled forward, through the woods and to the highway that Stiles had been snatched off of when he got out to check something in the back. Derek seemed to be growing stronger, slowly lending more and more support to Stiles, until he walked him to the passenger side and helped him in. He got in on the driver’s side and Stiles watched him hotwire the Jeep with deft fingers. “Just drop me off in Beacon Hills and then go,” he said quietly, focusing on breathing and staying awake. “You have to go warn Cora. There might be others looking for her pack.”

 

Derek leaned over and opened the glove box, rummaging around until he came out triumphantly with a cell phone that Stiles kept there in case of emergencies like this. He started driving while he dialed, and Stiles heard a tinny voice answer. “Stiles?”

 

“Cora, it’s Derek. There may be hunters after your pack.” He paused, then, “Yeah, Stiles is with me. He got us out but he’s not so well off. I’m taking him home. I think I might stick around for a little while. Yeah, I’ll tell him. Alright, stay safe. I’ve gotta go.”

 

Stiles opened his mouth, but Derek was already talking to somebody else. “Deaton, Stiles did some serious magic and he’s not doing so well. I’m bringing him to the clinic.” He growled. “Yes, this is Derek. I’ll explain when we get there, but be there in twenty.”

 

“It’s going to take longer than that,” Stiles mumbled faintly, but Derek ignored him, and his thoughts turned instead to how his fingertips seemed to be going numb and that the cuts on his chest were beginning to burn. He thought he must have made a sound, because Derek turned to look at him worriedly and accelerated.

 

Deaton was waiting outside when they got there, eyebrows drawing together when Derek only let Stiles stumble a few steps on his own before wrapping an arm around his waist. “Oh,” he said softly when he saw the thin lines of blood on Stiles’ abdomen, and he thought hazily that it was the first time he had ever seen Deaton look something close to shocked, or at least surprised. He ushered them inside and shut the door firmly behind them.

 

“Was he cut anywhere else?” he asked urgently.

 

“I don’t think so,” Derek said as if from across the room, even though he was still holding Stiles up. “I wasn’t—they were running low-voltage electricity through me the whole time, I might have missed something.”

  
“Just my chest,” Stiles managed. “There may have been something on the blade, I don’t know, but it burns.” More than that, it felt like fire was crawling along each cut at a snail’s pace, making it all the more unbearable. Derek settled him on the edge of the table and Deaton pulled out a few herbs, talking all the while.

 

“There are very few strains of wolfsbane that can have an adverse effect on humans,” Deaton explained. “But Stiles isn’t just human; he’s an emissary, a born one. He has a more intricate connection with magic than even I do. Tell me, Derek, what did he do?”

 

“He caved in the room we were being kept in somehow. I don’t know…”

 

“There was a tree growing above it,” Stiles whispered faintly. “I was able to manipulate its roots.”

 

Deaton nodded, examining the cuts closely. “He’s having an allergic reaction of sorts. Some strains of wolfsbane naturally absorb into the bloodstream, and yet his body is rejecting it, confining it to the wounds themselves. They’re becoming inflamed, and will be infected if I don’t…”

 

“If you don’t what?” Derek demanded.

 

“I need to put his soul somewhere else,” Deaton said calmly. “Just for a moment, so that I can extract the poison. It won’t go anywhere as long as his magic is fighting it, and as long as he is in his own body I cannot do anything.”

 

Stiles had heard about this. “No,” he choked out, ignoring the growing pain in his body and struggling to sit up. “No, you can’t, it isn’t—it isn’t safe for werewolves.”

 

“Not without experience,” Deaton admitted. “And I won’t unless I have Derek’s full consent.”

 

“You do,” Derek said immediately. His palm covered Stiles’ heart.

 

“ _No,_ ” Stiles insisted, but Deaton was already speaking in Latin, and he lifted away from himself.

 

He automatically cast about for something, anything to hold onto, and was repelled by a force surrounding Deaton that he couldn’t identify. Something warm was wrapping around him, something desperate with an underlying thrum of affection, and he couldn’t resist the presence that was so completely _Derek_ that tugged him close enough to cover him completely. And this was what he had been afraid of, because Derek wouldn’t just feel the overwhelming emotions that were directed towards him, but he would see the dead area inside Stiles, the part that had grown since Derek left and slowly made him into something else, a person with less compassion than before. He would understand why Stiles hadn’t hesitated to kill the hunters at all, and identify the horrible satisfaction it had given him to see the fear in their eyes when he overpowered all three. Derek would know just how fucked up he really was, and that was just unacceptable.

 

But he couldn’t fight the way that Derek seemed determined to weave into every part of Stiles he could reach, the way he circled the deadened part and just _pulled._ And Stiles was startled to feel the same terrible void in Derek too, covered up by time and experiences with a new pack that he made himself without even realizing it. Derek was almost vibrating out of his skin—well, theirs at the moment—with how close Stiles was, and Stiles could feel every second of it. It was both terrifying and completely revealing, and Derek didn’t seem to be making an effort to hide any of that at all.

 

And then he snapped back into his own body so abruptly that he gasped and a low whine sounded next to him where Derek was leaning over him, head resting on Stiles’ arm. Stiles could see that the wounds were still there, but they no longer felt unnaturally hot, but stung like they should after being carved into his skin with a serrated knife. He breathed in deeply, trying to relearn his own body, and there was something deeply unsettling about having to do that despite having only been away from it for a few seconds at the most. Derek was panting beside him, forehead still pressed to Stiles’ arm like he couldn’t bear to move.

 

Deaton was moving about again, cleaning the cuts out normally and bandaging each one. “You won’t need any stitches,” he said calmly, like he hadn’t just done what he did. “But you should rest, and you shouldn’t be alone at least for the night, maybe a couple of days…”

  
“I’ll stay with him,” Derek said, raising his head enough to look at Deaton.

 

“Derek—”

 

“This happened because of me,” Derek said angrily. “They took you because you were associated with me—”

 

“ _Years_ ago!” Stiles argued. “Derek, you’ve been gone for four years, they did _not_ take me because of you! They took me because I’m part of a pack in the first place. They were just lucky that we were part of the same pack once upon a time and that tonight I decided it was the perfect time to go on a night drive to collect some herbs for protection. This is not your fucking fault, so stop being such a martyr!”

 

Derek locked eyes with him. “I’m. Staying.”

 

Stiles looked away. It was hard to make eye contact with someone that had just become intimately acquainted with every part of your soul, especially the parts that you didn’t want anyone to see.

 

 

 

 

“I know you killed someone,” Derek said quietly. The sun was beginning to rise, casting soft gold light across Stiles’ living room where he and Derek sat together. Stiles was checking the slow-fading marks on Derek’s abdomen, lightly touching each to gauge a reaction and then apply a salve. Stiles stiffened at Derek’ swords, but said nothing. “Who was it?”

 

Stiles finished what he was doing before offering a response. “His name was Donovan and he wanted me and my dad dead. I didn’t have a choice.”

 

Derek’s face darkened in understanding. “Scott didn’t believe you, did he.”

 

“There’s always another way for him,” Stiles said. “I don’t think he ever really forgave me for it.” Even after all this time, all these years, something was broken between them. He wondered if it had maybe begun when Scott was turned, and only became apparent later as their lives spiraled down into hell. They would always be best friends, always be brothers, always be _pack_ , but they would never be the same again, because Scott didn’t know what it was like to have no other choice, and Stiles no longer understood how to look for every other option before being forced to act.

 

He could feel Derek staring at him, searching him, maybe trying to figure out a way back to Stiles’ soul, and so he pulled away. “You really don’t have to stay.”  


“Someone paid Braeden to kill my sister’s alpha a year ago,” Derek told him, and he looked up, unable to help himself at the way Derek’s voice broke over those words. “I thought it might have been the Calaveras, but Cora told me later that they had a truce of sorts with them; they turned no one unless they were approached first, and they notified the Calaveras. Training was integrated between the hunters and the pack, kind of like what happened with Chris Argent here, after he came back. It was a rogue family that hadn’t been seen for years, and Braeden was the most well-known mercenary on this side of the world.” He paused. “She wouldn’t do it. I haven’t seen her since.”

 

The following silence was so long that Stiles had to say something. “Why did she leave?”

 

“Their price wasn’t high enough,” Derek murmured, and scrubbed his hands down his face. “She told them that killing an alpha like that, and one connected to the Hales, would require a lot more than they were offering. She named a price, and they wouldn’t meet it. I found out because of Cora and Braeden never denied it. She left after that, because if she hadn’t, I would’ve killed her. I think she’s somewhere in Asia now.”

 

Stiles didn’t know what to say.

 

“I was headed back to Beacon Hills when I was caught by the same hunters that I’m guessing wanted Cora’s alpha dead,” Derek went on after a moment. “They wanted information and I wouldn’t give it to them, and they remembered my connection to the Argents and the connection the Argents had to Scott’s pack, and put two and two together. They thought the best way was to get you or Lydia alone, so they planted those herbs in the hope that one of you would go looking.” Derek laughed bitterly. “They told me exactly what they were going to do to you, every detail, every sick thing, until I told them what they wanted to know. And then they were going to kill us all. Cora, her pack, you, me, Scott.”

 

“Scott wouldn’t have let that happen,” Stiles said immediately. “Hell, the Argents wouldn’t let that happen. Not after everything. And they had to know that you wouldn’t talk, not even if they were threatening me. Especially me.”

 

Derek frowned, standing up and stepping closer. “Why _especially_ you?” He stepped right into the line of sunlight streaming through the window, and Stiles could suddenly count every one of his eyelashes if he wanted. “We were pack once. You were always pack, at least to me.”

 

“You _hated_ me.”

 

“I worried about you, sure,” Derek said. “After what happened with the Nemeton, and then the Nogitsune, I thought you might turn. You’ve been through almost as much crap as I have, maybe more by now. Most people wouldn’t have held up under the weight of that, but I should’ve figured you would. You were always stronger than most.”

 

Stiles couldn’t hold out under his gaze. “What are you doing here, Derek?”

 

For a long moment he thought Derek would say nothing. The room was growing slowly brighter with every minute, and Stiles wanted nothing more than to curl up in his own bed and sleep. He felt rather than saw Derek come closer, and heard him whisper, “I wanted to come home.” Stiles lifted his eyes just in time for Derek to press his forehead to Stiles’ gently, tipping into him like he just couldn’t help it. Stiles brought his hands up automatically and touched Derek’s waist, and then they were hugging, Derek’s face buried in his neck, Stiles reaching up to softly touch his hair. “Can I stay here?” Derek’s voice was muffled.

 

Stiles nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I’ve got an extra room…” He felt Derek shake his head, nose brushing the skin behind his ear, and he said something else instead. “C’mon, big guy. I’ll get you something to sleep in.”

 

He showed Derek to the bathroom so he could shower and left a folded shirt and sweatpants outside the door for him before moving to grab some extra blankets and his pillow to make a pallet on the floor for the night—morning. He was just stripping out of his shirt when Derek shuffled in, swaying on his feet and looking—there was no other word for it—adorable. Stiles wondered for a moment at the fact that Derek’s soul was just as battered and ripped apart as his own, but he could still make a face that gave Stiles the urge to pull Derek into his lap and wrap him up in a nest of blankets to hide him from the world.

 

Stiles blinked. That probably wasn’t good.

 

“What’re you doing?” Derek said suddenly, stopping in his tracks. He gestured to the blankets on the floor with a frown.

 

“That’s where I’m sleeping?”

 

Apparently that wasn’t what Derek was looking for. “I’m not kicking you out of your bed.”

 

“I know that, I figured you probably want some space.”

 

Derek glared at him, an expression Stiles hadn’t realized he’d missed until now. It made his mouth go dry. “Do I look like I want some space?” His eyes softened, and that was even worse, because Stiles had only ever seen that on his face looking at Erica when she was seizing, or Cora when she came back, or Boyd when he was dying. “Do _you_ want some space?”

 

Stiles shook his head, unable to speak.

 

Derek rolled his eyes and picked Stiles’ pillow and favorite blanket up off the floor ( _How does he know?_ Stiles thought before remembering—werewolf) and put them back on the bed before sliding under the covers and tugging Stiles down with him, ignoring his protest of, “Dude, I’m in my underwear.” He also manhandled Stiles (gently) until he was on his side with Derek pressed against his back, arm around his waist and face buried in the back of Stiles’ neck.

 

Stiles waited about five seconds before asking. “What are you doing?”

 

“Sleeping.”

 

“No shit, I mean with the…uh.”

  
“Cuddling?” Derek supplied. Stiles could feel his grin on the skin of his neck.

 

“Yeah. That.” It was the closest Stiles had allowed anyone in a long time. The pack used soft touches with him, except for Lydia, who kissed him on the cheek like reassurance (and it was) and even his dad was careful about getting too close. Stiles had had trouble controlling the magic for awhile, and after everything that had happened to them, it was hard not to flinch away. But Derek hadn’t been here for any of that, and now he was plastered to Stiles like he belonged there. He hadn’t really stopped touching Stiles in hours, ever since Stiles freed him. Even in Deaton’s office. _Especially_ in Deaton’s office, with the way he’d pulled Stiles so completely into him, _welcomed_ Stiles into his own body, his very self. It was overwhelming. But it also felt like exactly what Stiles had been missing all along, and that was more terrifying than anything else.

 

“Cora’s pack wasn’t my pack,” Derek murmured, and the hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck stood up when his lips brushed his skin. “And when I was still here I didn’t trust anyone enough to get close. I was born a werewolf, Stiles,” and his voice was tinged with desperation. Stiles could feel his heart racing through his shirt. “One of the most important things for us is physical touch. Why do you think so many omegas turn?” His arm was tightening slowly around Stiles like he couldn’t help it. “And you’ve—you’ve always been constant, even after I left. I kept in touch with Malia and you’re _human_ and you could’ve left at any point—”

 

Stiles twined their fingers hesitantly. When Derek sighed and curled even tighter into him, he squeezed gently. “I knew you’d still be here if I came back, so I did,” Derek whispered.

 

Stiles cleared his throat, which sounded like a shot in the quiet. “We should get some sleep,” he said finally. “I can’t imagine the last time you got a decent night’s sleep.” In truth he didn’t think he could sleep, what with the dim light coming in through the curtained window and everything that Derek had just said to him. But he let Derek hold onto him until his heart slows down and his breathing evens out, and for the first time in years, he lets himself be held.

 

 

 

 

Deaton had called Lydia.

 

It was hardly two hours later when Stiles jerked awake to the sound of the front door slamming shut. “Fuck, fuck—” He struggled with the arm that Derek still had wrapped around him, pinning him in place. It didn’t help that Derek had slipped a leg in between Stiles’ to hook his ankle around his calf. “Derek—”

 

“’S just Lydia,” Derek mumbled into his hair. The part of Stiles that wasn’t freaking out was sort of amazed that Derek recognized her just by the sound of her coming through the door after not having seen her for years. But he was also naked but for underwear and being aggressively spooned by a werewolf that no one else knew was back yet. That seemed like the important part right about now, so Stiles kept wrestling with the octopus arms that were clenched around him—without success.

 

Lydia stormed into the room without knocking and immediately began yelling. “If you get kidnapped and escape, you call someone!” is what she started with. “We’ve been looking for you for almost three days, Stiles! Scott couldn’t catch your scent and Deaton’s mystic magic shit wasn’t working, and I was trying a spell when he calls me to say, ‘Oh, hey, Lydia, Stiles is alive, but his _chest got carved into with a knife!_ It’s no big deal though, because he didn’t have to go to a hospital or anything, and—’” She stopped when she actually turned around to look at Stiles…and Derek, who was determinedly burrowing under the blankets and dragging Stiles with him as best he could. “Oh,” she said softly.

  
“Hey, have you met Derek?” Stiles grumbled, giving up and slumping back into said werewolf.

 

“Deaton didn’t tell us the whole story, did he,” Lydia said after a long moment.

 

“Us?”

 

“Well, me, but I called Scott,” she told him. “He’s on his way. Malia and Liam should be here soon too.”

 

Stiles groaned. “Get off, Derek.” When Derek firmly refused with a growl of disapproval, Stiles sighed. “Lydia, can you get me a pair of sweatpants out of the second drawer? And a t-shirt?”

 

She did as he asked, but she kept looking back with an odd look on her face. She finally tossed him the clothes and he did his best to yank them on despite the circumstances. “I’ll, uh…I’m going to go wait in the living room for the others,” she said quietly, and left the room.

 

“Derek, you have to—”

 

“The only way I am letting go is if you promise that we will go back to sleep as soon as they’re gone.” He made the threat clear by nuzzling the spot behind Stiles’ ear, which was so not good for…whatever was going on here. Stiles wasn’t sure yet, but he was starting to recall the barely-there crush he’d had for Derek in high school, and this—not helping.

 

“You’re being a baby,” he complained rather than give into the temptation to stay right there. Derek made a good point about going back to sleep; he was still exhausted, and his whole body was starting to ache the way it always did after using magic like he had. But he could hear movement down the hall now, and Stiles wouldn’t put it past Scott to come barging in here just like Lydia had, except his reaction to Derek in his bed probably wouldn’t be nearly as…quiet.

 

“ _Stiles._ ”

 

“Oh my god, fine.” Derek’s arm loosened just enough for Stiles to slip out of bed and wrestle his t-shirt on. He winced when it brushed the cuts on his chest, even though they were covered in gauze.

 

“Maybe we’ll clean those first,” Derek said quietly behind him, too close, and Stiles stepped away to resist the urge to just lean back. He led the way into the living room without another word. Scott moved toward him immediately, and reached out to pull him into a quick hug, letting go almost before Stiles could lift his arms and hug back lightly. Malia nodded at him from across the room, and Lydia was sitting in his single armchair.

 

“What the hell happened to you two?” Scott asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The fact that he included Derek in his question made Stiles relax.

 

“Hunters,” he replied shortly. “They kidnapped me to try to get Derek to tell them where Cora’s pack was. I got us out.”

 

Everyone understood what that meant. “Are you okay?” Liam stepped forward uncertainly from his place next to Malia, like he wanted to reach out and touch. His hand even came up, until he seemed to remember something, and he stopped short. Stiles was grateful that he didn’t have to explain anything.

 

“I’m fine, just tired.”

 

“Derek?” Scott checked. He looked worried about the fact that Derek was standing so close to Stiles, like he wasn’t sure who he should be more concerned for.

 

Derek cleared his throat. “Nothing some sleep can’t fix.” The implication was clear to everyone in the room, but Scott ignored him for a moment to brush a hand against Stiles’ shoulder.

 

“Your dad’s on the way over,” he told him. “He’s been pretty worried.”

 

“It’s not the first time I’ve gotten kidnapped,” Stiles said teasingly, but no one else was smiling. “Thanks man,” he added. “Look, there’s a meeting tomorrow night, right? Can we talk about all this then? I kind of want to sleep for twelve hours right now and get some energy back.”

 

“Are you sure that’s not Derek practically using you as a pillow?” Malia said pointedly, a hint of a smirk on her mouth. Her eyes were narrowed in concern though, as were the rest of the packs’. Stiles could feel the heat radiating from Derek against his back, but Stiles wasn’t moving away from the closeness like he usually would. He felt Derek stiffen, just barely, and sighed inwardly when he took a step back so that he wasn’t quite so close.

 

The sheriff arrived before anyone could say anything else, bursting into the house without knocking, as everyone else had. “Stiles.” He sounded relieved, and Stiles stepped forward to accept his dad’s brief hug. “What the hell happened?”

 

“Hunters that wanted Cora’s pack,” Derek replied, bringing Sheriff Stilinski’s attention to him. “They thought that if they got someone from my old pack that they could get me to tell them.” Stiles turned around in time to see his lips twitch. “Obviously they underestimated him. He’s the one that got us out.”

 

The sheriff stepped forward to shake Derek’s hand, but looked at Stiles. “Are you okay?” He knew what happened after magic.

 

“I’m fine, Dad,” Stiles reassured him—all of them. “We both are, we just need some rest.” The sheriff twitched like he wanted to hug him, and Stiles motioned with his hand. A moment later he was engulfed in a warm embrace that felt slightly desperate, like how Derek had been holding him last night, and completely different at the same time. Stiles closed his eyes and tried to relax into it as best he could.

 

When he was let go, he could see the recognition in his dad’s eyes, and wondered just how evident his exhaustion was. “I’m working the night shift tonight, but how about dinner on Tuesday?” Stiles nodded. “You too Derek, if you’re interested,” his dad added to the other man. “If you’ll still be here.”

 

“I’d like that.” Derek sounded so genuine that Stiles was surprised for a moment, until he remembered that for a little bit he and his dad had almost been something like friends. “We’ll tell you more about it then. Stiles is right; we’re both exhausted.”

 

Sheriff Stilinski nodded slowly. “I’m glad you two are safe.”

 

“Derek, you should come with Stiles to the meeting tomorrow,” Scott suggested as the pack began to drift toward the door. Lydia stepped close to peck Stiles’ cheek and whisper, “You better call me later.” And before Liam left, he and Malia stopped right in front of Stiles and Derek. “Did they suffer?” he asked quietly.

 

“If they were smart, they killed themselves before they could.” Stiles kept his voice low so that his dad and Lydia couldn’t hear, but he saw the way Scott went rigid. That would have hurt him deeply once, but now there was only a twinge.

 

“Good.” Malia smiled, quick and deadly, and left.

 

And then they were alone again.

 

He didn’t look at Derek, already knowing the expression that he would see. He didn’t need pity. Especially not from Derek.

 

“Come on,” Derek said softly, lightly touching his wrist. “I should check out your chest.” Stiles closed his eyes at the barely-there touch, feeling a sense of loss; Derek was the first person to touch him without hesitating in years, and now he was as cautious as the rest of them. _It was really only a matter of time,_ he thought, and turned to follow Derek into his bathroom, stripping his shirt off as he went.

 

“It isn’t just in born werewolves,” Derek said when he came in. “Contact is important in any pack, human or wolf. We never feel quite right without it.” He knelt in front of Stiles, who had slipped past him to sit on the toilet. He took off each bandage carefully, so as not to pull on his skin, and traced each red, angry line. They all looked better than the night before, but Stiles knew he would probably have a few silvery scars there later. He wondered if he should care more about that.

 

“Stiles.” Derek flattened a palm over his chest, fingers splayed out over the skin. His index finger rested right next to Stiles’ nipple and he shuddered. “When’s the last time you let someone in?” Derek asked, so softly that his voice caught in his throat.

 

Stiles didn’t answer.

 

He didn’t know this Derek, the one right here who hadn’t hesitated at all to pull Stiles right up against him, who hadn’t wanted to let go. He was smooth where once he had been all rough edges and soft words that used to be anger. He was the Derek Hale that Stiles had seen as a little kid that had become the premise of his hatred for basketball because he would never be so good at it. This could’ve been Paige’s Derek, this man who wasn’t hesitating to lift his other hand and tilt Stiles’ head forward so that their eyes met. He wasn’t letting Stiles hide, and he wasn’t hiding either.

 

He leaned into the touch without thinking, resting his forehead against Derek’s and bringing a hand up to wrap around his wrist. “After you left, a lot of shit happened,” he sighed out. “There was an old friend of mine and Scott’s that came back into town and he tore us all apart like paper. I started learning more about magic then, and for a long time if anyone got too close there was something like electricity. I couldn’t stop it from happening for a long time, and by the time I could control it, everyone was so used to keeping their distance that they never really came close again. I killed Donovan, and I wouldn’t _let_ them.”

 

“So why are you letting me?” Derek murmured. His breath ghosted over Stiles’ lips.

 

Stiles laughed humorlessly, feeling his throat tighten. “You never let anyone close to you for as long as I knew you,” he admitted. “It’s like…you didn’t even stop to think about it, and you let Deaton…you let me _in_ and after that there didn’t seem like much point. You’d seen everything anyways.”

 

“I figured out a lot while I was gone,” Derek told him. He was pressing closer, coming up onto his knees in between Stiles’ legs, an arm dropping to curl around Stiles’ waist. “Like that just because I monumentally fucked up about a hundred times doesn’t mean I’m forever destined to fuck up.”

 

“You mean that the inspirational quotes aren’t bullshitting me?” Stiles could feel Derek’s grin against his cheek. He was pretty sure that his heart was trying to burst out of his chest entirely and vaguely wondered if death by hugging was real. Because that’s what was happening right now, wasn’t it? He wasn’t a hundred percent sure, and was about two seconds away from doing something incredibly stupid, like turning his head and sliding his nose along Derek’s and—

 

“I should probably shower.” It was a terrible idea, kissing Derek. Well, not just kissing Derek. Kissing anyone was a terrible idea. He was pretty fucked up, and Derek seemed like he was finally getting better, like he was something close to happy. Who was Stiles to get in the way of that?

 

“You promised we’d go back to sleep.” Derek was so close that they were breathing the same air now.

 

Stiles was shaking. “Come on, I got kidnapped yesterday. I probably smell like blood and metal and all sorts of awful things.”

 

“You smell like magic.”

 

Derek sounded desperate, but he was kissing Stiles like he might break apart in his hands. Stiles thought that maybe Derek was giving him a chance to pull away, and it occurred to him that he probably should. He hissed out a breath when he did and Derek bit his lip, tugging on it gently before letting Stiles lean back just enough to tell him that this wasn’t what he wanted, that Stiles would only screw this up and ruin Beacon Hills for Derek permanently. He let Stiles talk himself breathless, and then he pressed his mouth back to Stiles’ and hauled him to his feet.

 

Stiles let Derek lick into his mouth and tangle his fingers in his hair. “Stop me if I hurt you.” Derek sounded strained, like forcing himself to move his lips to Stiles’ cheek and go still was the most difficult thing he had ever done.

 

“You don’t know—Derek—I’m not good, I’m not—” Stiles was trying to make him understand, but he felt warm all the way down to his toes and if Derek was human he would definitely be holding on too tightly.

 

“Then tell me to stop.” Stiles felt Derek’s hands leave his hair, one cupping the back of his neck. Fingertips danced down his spine until they came to rest on his hip. They were barely-there presses on his skin, a thumb resting on the curve of his hip, nails scratching up into his hair like Derek couldn’t quite stop himself. He kissed Stiles once more, a light brush against his lips, and pulled back enough to look him in the eye. “Stiles,” he whispered.

 

“Derek, I was half in love with you in high school and now I’m about as broken as I can be, and you don’t get it, because if we do this I’m not going to want it to stop here, but you’re going to get torn apart because of me and you’re healing, you’re better, and I’m—I’m not.” Stiles’ voice caught in his throat and his voice came out hoarse when he spoke again. “I’m about the worst thing you could want and you’re going to regret this, I know it.”

 

Derek stared at him, mouth open and red. “You actually believe all of that.”

 

“It’s the truth.” He was trying so hard not to look at Derek’s tongue resting on his teeth that he missed the determined expression that crossed his face just before he crowded Stiles back against the sink and slanted their mouths together. Stiles couldn’t help the whimper that slipped from his lips, couldn’t keep himself from sliding his hands underneath Derek’s shirt and just holding on.

 

There was a moment of surprise when his knees hit the back of the bed, having been unaware that they were moving at all, which was followed by the realization that somehow they’d both managed to lose their clothes on the way there. Derek nosed at his jaw, draping his body over Stiles.’ Then he rolled his hips and Stiles choked on a groan. Derek caught his mouth with his again, just for a couple of seconds, and then pulled back and started murmuring in Stiles’ ear, the crook of his neck, placing kisses between words. “Derek,” Stiles breathed, digging his fingers into Derek’s skin like he was going to disappear.

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Derek whispered. “Unless you ask me to, I’m staying right here.” Stiles unraveled completely, and Derek tipped over the edge with him, sliding his hands up and twining his fingers with Stiles’ over his head.

 

After a long moment, Derek leaned up and grinned. “Half in love with me, huh?”

 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Just hold me, you idiot.”

 

“You sure?” The question was completely serious.

 

Stiles pushed Derek off and onto his back, reaching over the side of the bed and wiping both their stomachs off with a t-shirt, and wriggled back into Derek’s chest. Stiles fell asleep first this time, to Derek’s thumb rubbing circles over the back of his hand and his lips kissing his neck so, so softly.  


End file.
